Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,60
don’t have one. Until I get my top surgery, I don’t want to deal with swimming in public places.
I hear my phone ding. And ding. And ding.
MAX: DUDE I EMAILED YOU A LINK
MAX: SPOILER ALERT: IT’S A PETITION!!!
MAX: DUDE DUDE DUDE
I open my Gmail and read the online petition posted by Max, with fifty-one signatures so far. Two weeks ago, a sophomore transgender girl was asked to use the bathroom in the teachers’ lounge instead of the girls’ bathroom. Turns out, a couple concerned parents went to the school board and made a fuss about the safety of their daughters. Same story, different town. When the school treats trans students like they’re different, it gives the green light for the other kids to do the same, but kids are way meaner. I sign the petition.
PONY: Done!
MAX: Great, now post it, my man.
MAX: We need to spread the word!
MAX: We need to help Ashley!
I knew he would ask me to share it. The passion of Max. He fights so hard for our community. There’s just one problem: if I post that petition about a transgender girl, then my fifty or so new friends from Hillcrest are going to wonder about me. It would be a bad move right now.
PONY: I’m busy but later!
MAX: Pony! We need more trans visibility.
MAX: DO NOT HIDE ON ME!
I pocket my phone. I don’t need a guilt trip. I’m dealing with enough right now. I check my watch for the hundredth time today. Has the date started? I am officially torturing myself with this friendship.
“Hey, boy, why are you doing nothing?”
I jump up, startled. Victor has snuck into the pool house.
“Yeah, I’m making good progress. Check it out.” I show Victor that I’m wearing a fake armor chest piece from some Roman war movie.
“Do not break that!” he says in high alarm.
Poor Victor. This job has got be hard on him. Taking care of someone who’s both sick and stubborn must be exhausting. The bags under his eyes are visible from across the room.
“Hey, V,” I say, moving toward him. “How long has it been since you had some time off?”
“What month is it? Mr. London requires constant attention, as I’m sure you are aware.”
I frown. “Well, it just so happens that I don’t have plans tonight. Maybe I could hang out here and you could go have some me time.”
Victor starts speaking but stops. “Yes, I will take you up on your offer. Are you sick?”
“Of cleaning this pool house? Yes!” I say with a smile.
Victor finally smiles back at me. “Thank you, Pony. But you must promise to take good care of him! I have already prepared dinner. Enchiladas! Big man’s favorite. You will need to heat them up for fifteen minutes in the oven. You know what an oven is, right?”
“I can google it later,” I joke.
He looks at his watch. “I will be back at ten p.m. Is that OK?”
“Yeah, man. I’ll head in soon. Get out of here and do you.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can find someone to do me,” Victor says with a wink. He turns around and exits with a skip in his step. It feels good to help.
As I’m exiting the pool house, a stack of photos collapses by my feet, old Polaroids spilling out all over the floor. I drop to my knees, gathering the photos into an envelope. I pick up a black-and-white photo of a blond man with a big smile, standing confidently in his swim trunks on the beach. His arm is around Ted in a very comfortable way. I flip it over and see Ted’s handwriting:
1958. My Love.
Holy shit, what is Ted London hiding? I pocket the picture and head into the house.
In the kitchen, with the enchiladas heating in the oven, I take the photo back out of my pocket. Is this Ted’s love? He’s told me a few stories about his dates and relationships—all women. So who is this guy?
My phone starts dancing in my pocket again.
MAX: POST IT PONY POST POST POST IT PONY
MAX: TICK TOCK PONY
MAX: R U SERIOUS?
Sorry, Max, I’m dealing with more pressing issues now. I google Ted London and get his Wikipedia, which leads to his IMDb and a carousel of his movies’ posters. Farther down the page I see:
“Is Ted London Gay?” from the National Enquirer, 1959
“The Secret Sex Life of Ted London” from the New York Times, 1963
“The Real Reason Ted London Left Hollywood,” from People magazine, 1987
“Hey there, son,” Ted London says, scaring